True Faith
by Brennon Sithech
Summary: In the Old World faith can take on many guises, often false. As the battle against Chaos rages one Warrior Priest struggles with the faith of his God Sigmar.


Gaspar Schmidt sneered as the lowly peasant begged for his life. His grubby hands were wrapped in Gaspar's flowing red robes and the snot and tears mingled with the mud that caked it.

"Please, please, I do not deserve to die!" the cretin writhed in anguish and sobbed all the harder.

"Sigmar has chosen you to die, not I; it is his will that we follow." Gaspar kicked the peasant away with an ironclad boot and pointed his magnificently gleaming warhammer to his face. "You will burn in his cleansing fire and if Sigmar marks your sins forgiven you will join the good of the Empire in Morr's Garden"

He clutched the hammer in both his gauntleted hands and without a twitch of remorse bought it down on the peasants head. The blow shattered the skull and the whimpering stopped. With a jerking movement the body fell into the mud, blood and brains spilling out at Gaspar's feet.

He turned to the assembled masses and held the bloody hammer high.

"This is Sigmar's justice on those who would turn to the ways of Chaos!" he watched from the corner of his eye as the two initiates he had with him dragged the body away through the blood slicked mud and threw it into a ditch lined with spikes. "This man thought that he could betray his own comrades to the forces of Darkness and save himself. The pitiful worm failed in his endeavour and so has met his fate, a sign from Sigmar for all those who would strive to undermine his glorious Empire!" Gaspar found his heart swelling in his chest and his eyes burning into the souls of all those arrayed before him.

The soldiers, all muddy and bloody in equal amount cheered their hearts swelling as Gaspar's did. He knew the way to make them do what he wanted, and this was no different. He did not need to disclose that the man had in fact just been a normal peasant, and all he had done was try and steal bread from his tent. That mattered little when his army, on the brink of routing, had a horde of beastmen and Chaos warriors to fight.

"Go now and make ready your weapons. Your faith in Sigmar himself will protect you and bring us to the point of victory!" At this he turned and walked back to his tent, ignoring the disapproving but scared looks of his initiates as they washed their hands of the peasant's blood.

Inside the tent the general sat, stroking his beard and smoking his pipe. Gregor Hansburg lifted his feet from Gaspar's war chest and smoothed down his tabard. In respect of the Sigmarite Templar he bowed.

"The deed is done?" he said, coughing the last of his pipe out onto his hand and wiping it on his trousers.

"Yes, the troops will fight with renewed vigour now, do not worry about the initiates they will not utter a word." Gasper handed his hammer to one of them, a crook-backed individual named Faust a man born of the lowliest stock imaginable.

"All I need is a fighting force to take the head off that bastard Chaos scum. He has beaten us at every turn and I cannot see a way to stop him" Gregor slipped his pipe into his belt and gripped the sword hilt at his side tighter.

"Sigmar will prevail this day" Gregor knelt at a small shrine and made the mark of the hammer on his chest. "Mark my words Gregor; justice will be done unto these foul doers".

A few hours later both Gregor and Gaspar stood in front of their arrayed forces and strode before them, pointing their weapons to the west, at the mass of writing fur and steel that was the Chaos army. Gregor had taken command of most of the rank and file, leading the Spearmen, Swordsmen and Greatswords. The Handgunners were being guided in their efforts by a wizened old Engineer by the name of Ludwig, with dust in his veins, but a mind as keen as a bard's wit. Gaspar himself took control of his own stalwart men. His militia, all bearing the small stone crosses he had made they craft. They were poorly armed, but he knew that their faith in Sigmar was more than enough to turn the blades of the enemy. As well as the rabble he also commanded a unit of chanting and bellowing flagellants who were doing an excellent job of keeping his militia fired up and ready to fight. It was easy to bend their minds to his will. They were a perfect fighting force of religious zealots, weak and with nothing to live for.

Fortunately for Gaspar the Chaos hordes did not need any encouragement in their attack. They were pouring down over the hill in front of the Empire army and brayed for blood. He turned and looked back to his forces. Gregor's army was marching forwards with military order and structure, the drums beating and the banners flowing in the wind. His militia however stood still and trembled as the sounds of Ogres, Trolls and all manner of horrors filled with air. Fortunately just as Gaspar was about to shout his words of encouragement the flagellants bellowed chants and roared past the militia. To his surprise the militia were swelled with pride and followed behind, yelling, whopping and swinging their miscellaneous weapons around their heads.

In the space of a few moments the sides had clashed together with a thud of metal and muscle. He could see Gregor across the other side of the battlefield forcing his greatswords into a unit of braying Gors, the handgunners behind, aided by the massive cannons of Nuln fired into life, belching balls of lead across the skies in screaming arches. Two of the cannon balls hit their mark, thudding into the chests of Minotaurs bringing them down in howls of agony. The handgun shots found their targets also, some taking great winged creatures from the sky while others tore into the front rank of a unit of Chaos Warriors. Their ancient and moulded armour deflected most of the hits, and a few found their mark bringing titanic warriors to their knees - blood spewed from the gap between their helmets and chest plates.

Gaspar turned and feeling the vigour of his youth once more burning through his veins he charged into the front line of battle crazed lunatics before him. He reached them first, his hammer connecting with the skull of his first victim. It split open, a mess of fur, horns and brains and he carried on his crescendo of violence, carving a path deeper into the horde of enemies. His flagellants followed close behind. Some were smashed to pieces by giant axes and hammers, others gutted, but despite the deadliest of wounds they still kept fighting. Their flails whipped round and round, taking heads, limbs, weapons from their victims and mulching their bodies into a tangled mess.

His militia were not faring as well. Most of them were just butchered as they closed with the beastmen. More lost their nerve and fled only to find their backs stuck with throwing axes. The mass of bodies the beastmen piled high however served to drive on a tight knit group of them and they fought, chanting prayers of Sigmar and ignoring the wounds their bodies suffered.

His initiates fought with them, Faust ducked lazily under blows and swung this way and that with his twin blacksmiths weapons, turning skulls into pulp and restoring the faith in his brothers. Gaspar had to admit that the man had talent with his hands, even if his mind has left him.

The fighting was furious all around him. The momentum of their charge had driven them deep into the Chaos lines and now they had pushed through the beastmen and were tackling the harder Chaos Warriors behind them. The enemies tactic was one even Gaspar had to admire. They had let their fodder tire the humans so that when they faced their elite, they would be tired and worn out. It was only by virtue of the cannon and the handgunners that now they were able to take the black clad warriors on.

Gaspar realised his flagellants had lost their drive; they were slowing, resorting to knives, clubs and broken swords rather than their flails and were behind him now, trapped in a mass of braying Gors and Ungors. The tightly packed group of militia however was with him, and he was surrounded by bleeding and weary men, all chanting the rites of Sigmar. He couldn't help notice that Faust was watching him from the corner of his eye, even as he fought a gigantic troll and broke its neck with his twin hammers. Gaspar decided to ignore the fool and carried on his work, smashing aside the heavily armoured brutes and looking for their General. Gregor was having a harder time with his foe on the other side of the battlefield. Gaspar noticed the banner of the spearmen running in the opposite direction, only to disappear under a mass of beastman hooves and chaos warriors iron toed boots. He balked at the incompetence of the soldiers and told himself any survivors would be killed. The Greatswords were doing better. They were flanked on either side by experienced swordsmen and were moving together with military grace. Nothing could break the thick wall of shields. Gregor, in his golden armour was at the front, sword aloft; he inspired them to great feats of heroics. Even as Gaspar watched he saw Gregor stride towards a lone Minotaur, strike it in the chest with his Runefang and the beast topple to the ground, cheers coming from behind him. The ring of cannon fire sounded once more, cannon balls and shot flying through the air. More of the deadly harpies fell from the sky, unable to swoop down before another volley was fired. The cannon shot landed in the masses of enemy infantry and great corridors of limbs and mashed bodies were carved in their lines. The battle was turning in their favour as each second passed.

Gaspar fought on, until suddenly he felt a ringing in his ears and a thudding pain at the back of his skull. He turned as blood filled his vision to see a chaos warrior laughing manically swinging a blood soaked club in its metal fists. Gaspar fought through the pain which suddenly racked his body and charged forwards. He noticed his militia; his initiates were all looking at him as they tried in vain to hold off the bloodthirsty chaos warriors. The chaos warrior was distracted for a moment, the priest's powerful attack coming as a surprise. He barely bought the club up to block as Gaspar knocked it from his hand and smashed the hammer through his helmet, the laughing stopped immediately. Gaspar turned and yelled to all around him "You see! I continue! Sigmar protects us all!" he bellowed and went back to his fight, the blood streaming into his eyes nothing but a minor inconvenience.

Faust watched as his mentor fought on swinging the hammer into the chaos warriors around him. How could Sigmar let such a man live? Faust often thought of this. His fellow initiates always told him to keep quiet about such things and never to ask questions. In front of him the militia fought, the last of their fury dwindling. He gripped the haft of each of his hammers and strode down into combat.

"Fight on brothers!" his voice rang out and imbued the hearts of the men around him with vigour they thought they had lost.

A man, weary and bloody pushed himself from his knees even as a beastman tried to take his head off with a crushing blow. From somewhere in his heart he found the strength to push his blade into the neck of the beast and stand, launching himself back towards his friends in danger. This was Sigmar's work Faust thought. This was how the glory of their Lord should be seen. Not, as Gaspar would believe, in the displays of righteous vengeance and showmanship, the deaths of innocents. A roar sounded from across the plain, past the militia fighting desperately, past his mentor pressing deep into a regiment of warriors. Atop the hill a terrifying visage looked down on the carnage.

The beast was of huge, at least ten times the height of any man. Its body was a mix of fur and red skin, covered in part by large plates of burnished bronze. Large leathery wings stretched from its back and opened to the heavens. Its legs were of goats, shaggy with black fur. Its chest was that of a human, but its head was monstrous. A snarling maw dripping with saliva and blood, two yellow eyes glaring down onto the carnage, the visage chilled the blood of every one of the Empire soldiers.

It took flight; Faust followed it across the sky, seeing it crash down on the blood soaked ground before Gaspar. His mentor bellowed and his hammer began to glow.

"To the fighting my brothers!" Faust shouted, urging his transfixed militia to keep their sword and shields high, bringing the fight to the beastmen.

He couldn't understand Sigmar's way. Why was he still helping such a corrupted and bloodthirsty man? He steeled himself, it must all be for some reason, he thought. He clapped his hammers together around the skull of a beastman, its eyes popping from its sockets and kicked its corpse down onto the ground. The battle which had been going their way was now swinging back into the grip of the Chaos minions.

Gregor and his men were faltering. The arrival of the demon had sent a wave of panic through the force and the swordsmen had retreated back towards the gun line, leaving Gregor and his Greatswords stranded, surrounded by Chaos Warriors. The guns had silenced also, their payload expired. It had been to great effect, but there was now nothing to cover the retreating forces. Deadly war hounds and now blood covered demons were hacking at the rear of the Swordsman unit, tearing down the stragglers as they desperately tried to get behind the wall of spikes that was their defence.

Faust and his militia watched as the last of the flagellants met their end. The last one trying to strangle the life out of a beastman as it beat his head in with a rusty hammer. They had fought well, but even he knew that they were an expendable asset in war, it wouldn't do to have them around after the fight was won, too much bad spirit in their words, when moral should be high. Faust made his mind up. He rallied the remnants of the militia to him and they moved, slow but sure through the combat, making their way towards the dwindling forces of the Greatswords and their General. They had the element of surprise as they clasped with the rear of the force, their hammers, swords, axes and knives unceremoniously, but uncaringly stabbing into the back of the huge warriors. They broke the line, forcing their way towards the resplendent Greatswords, bearded and battered, still singing war songs, their drummer beating the rhythm of death.

Gregor ducked the blow of a Chaos Warrior and bought his Runefang down on the brute's spine. The blow rung off the armour but forced the warrior to his knees. Gregor, tired as he was managed to heft the warrior onto his back and slammed the blade down through the helmet, a great spurt of black blood launched into the air. He turned, panting to see Faust and the militia fighting forwards.

"Those cowardly dogs have fled!" he yelled, pointing with a gauntleted hand towards the backs of the Swordsmen, the war hounds still on their tail.

"Little remains General" Faust said, finding a moments peace in the centre of a circle of Greatswords and militia, both men exhausted, lungs burning for air.

"Gaspar?"

"Last I saw he was fighting the Great Bloodthirster, I do not know of his success or failure"

"May Sigmar protect him" Gregor said, crossing him self with the sign of the hammer.

Faust muttered under his breath "Let's hope not"

Across the field, as the Bloodthirster roared and swung its massive axe, Gaspar ducked and scrabbled in the dirt. He was having trouble avoiding the huge demons reach, and only just had he managed to avoid the axe splitting him in two. He scrambled away from the demons mocking laughter and stood to his feet. Looking around for comrades, there were none. All his companions were dead or dying. The beastmen and their armoured warriors had been spurred on by the presence of the demonic master and had slaughtered the remaining flagellants and militia he had had with him. They had all gone off to fight in the last stand of the Greatswords, he was alone.

Gaspar retreated back from the roaring beast, not a single wound on its body and pulled the book of Sigmar from his side. He clasped the hammer and raised it too the heavens.

"By the grace of Sigmar, give me the strength to banish this abomination back to where it came!" He bellowed, seeing the light start to seethe through the intricate runes on the hammer, a heat radiating from inside of him.

The Bloodthirster paid more attention to him now; this wasn't a wasp to be squished, a villager to be played with. Gaspar knew that the demon feared the divine light of Sigmar within him. Even as his hammer burst into a nimbus of light, he felt the power drain from him, the pain return and the blood continue to flow from his wounds. Something was wrong.

"_Thou hast forsaken your oath"_

Gaspar stared around, the voice had come from somewhere but he could not see where.

"Face me demon! Let Sigmar's light shine forth!" he yelled, looking on desperately as the Bloodthirster laughed mockingly and stepped forwards, the ground thundering beneath each giant hoof.

Gaspar tried to ready his hammer, but it was too late. The Bloodthirster reached down with its blood red hands and swatted him. The hit was like running into a brick wall. He felt the blow break the left side of his body, bones shattering, blood flooding punctured lungs and a ringing blasting through his skull. He bounced across the battlefield, rolling to a stop finally in a mass of his fallen comrades. He panted for breath, but every time he did his lungs filled with blood and it chocked his throat. He reached for hammer, and the book next too it, but as he did the giant hoof of the demon crushed it beneath its black toes. The demon leered down at him, scooped him up in its hand and bought the little human close to its face.

"Blood for the Blood God, Skulls for the Skull King" the demon said in guttural Reikspiel.

"Sigmar will bring your ruin demon" Gaspar spluttered through the blood pouring from his lips.

"Your God has forsaken you mortal" the Bloodthirster returned before crushing him with a quick press of its fingers.

Faust looked behind him as the great demon roared and threw the corpse of Brother Gaspar to the ground. With a flap of its great wings it took to the sky, the men quaking in their boots as it flew over them, back towards the main camp. Faust knew the Bloodthirster would wreak havoc on their base; there would be nothing to return too. Faust looked around him. The militia were failing, the Greatswords were tiring and only a handful remained. His fellow initiate was dead; his body cut apart by axe and sword. Faust sported a gruesome wound on his arm, the blow had sliced down to the bone and he could see his muscle beneath the pump of crimson blood.

He brained a chaos warrior with his stronger hammer arm, wrenching it from his skull as he watched the golden armoured Gregor fall to his knees. Faust's heart skipped a beat as a gigantic chaos warrior pulled the general back by his hair and sliced the old mans head from his shoulders. The army broke apart in an instant. Faust pushed through fleeing militia, some being cut down where they stood. The Greatswords roared orders to hold, but the militia pushed away, screaming and dying in a bloody swathe.

One of the Greatswords pushed a bleeding man out of the way and spied Faust fighting his way towards them.

"Ah, Sigmar be praised!" the man, covered in blood and hacking left and right pressed towards him.

"How many remain?" Faust shouted, kicking a dying beastman in the face and breaking its neck.

"Alas, we are few, we must find a way to es…" but just as the words came to his lips a sword point stuck through the Greatsword's chest plate.

Faust gasped and looked behind as a mocking chaos warrior, the one who had cut the head of Gregor pushed the old man aside and came straight for him. Faust clashed his hammers together and charged towards the chaos fiend. The warrior bought the sword down in a high strike, deflecting off Faust's pauldron. Faust moved inside the warriors guard, shouldering him backwards and swinging up with one of his hammers. The blow caught the maniac under the chin and his neck snapped back, his helmet coming loose.

Taking a step back he realised the full horror of his enemy. As the warrior stumbled, his neck cricked back he stopped and snapped it forwards with a growl. The sight chilled Faust's blood till it stopped in his veins. The warriors head was a mess of scars and crags. Blood seeped from its eyes which were black as coals. Its nose was not to be seen, a mangled mess with the etchings of the Chaos Gods replacing it. Its mouth was distended and full of teeth. Even as Faust crossed himself with the sign of the hammer the jaw lengthened, huge tusks sprouting from its skin, ripping through it, the pain not seeming to stop the things advance. It spoke in a tongue that Faust could not understand and clashed its sword against the giant shield it carried, laughing mockingly.

"I am not afraid of you demon!" Faust said, looking around as his comrades died in a frenzy of blood and screaming.

"Blood for the Blood God!" The creature roared, charging towards him, sword held high.

Faust bought his hammers together, only just stopping the downwards chop, he struggled with the beasts overwhelming strength, sweat beading on his forehead but he forced it to the side, sending an iron capped boot into the warriors knee. The force of his kick was not enough to break the kneecap but it stumbled the attacker. Faust capitalised on his good fortune and swung a hammer for the things face. The blow connected teeth and tusks shattering, blood spurting from the wound. Faust roared and swung again, the fiend reeling from the blow. The second hammer caught the warrior in the chest, crunching the armour and winding him. He felt that finally he was having some luck, but he realised that even if he bested this one chaos warrior, he would have a whole army to face, and there was no way he would survive.

The chaos warrior roared with the pain, but seemed to laugh at it as well. His jaw hung loose, the tusks broken and blood gushing from the ruin the hammers had caused.

"You fight well mortal, but this only serves to make me stronger!" The warrior flung away his shield and grasped its sword in two hands "Come to meet the Skull King priest" the warrior spat blood onto the floor.

Faust realised suddenly that the fighting around him had stopped. He looked around; all the soldiers he had fought with were dead or dying. He could even hear the screams of the main camp, those who could and would not fight being massacred by the great demon. He steeled himself. This was Sigmar's wish. With no more thought he charged forwards, throwing one of his hammers at the chaos wretch. The hammer was knocked aside and cut in two by a great cleaving of the warriors sword. Faust bought his hammer down on the warrior's unprotected arm and heard bone snap. His frenzy took over and he raised the hammer for another strike, but it never came.

He looked down; the warrior had one hand on his sword, the other clutching the cruel end of a dagger. Pain shot through his chest as he realised that the blade was sunk deep into his flesh. The warrior stood, laughing and dropped his sword, pulling the dagger free as well making Faust fall to his knees.

"Where is your God now priest?" the warrior said to loud cackling from the other soldiers around him. "He lets his most devote die!" The warrior smirked as best he could with broken jaw and smashed a fist into Faust's face. The world flittered between reality and darkness, but the shadow won out. He collapsed to the bloody floor and felt his breath leave him, sucked away by the power of chaos that flowed over the battlefield.

***

Many hours passed until Faust felt his eyes open. Sunlight blinded him and he drew breath sharply, the stench of death filling his nostrils and lungs. He gagged then vomited, pushing himself to his knees. A sudden realisation filled his mind and he reached for the wound in his chest. It was not there. Gazing around he noticed he was still on the battlefield, but the stormy clouds had been replaced by a bright sunlight that cast shadows amongst the mounds of corpses. Strangely no carrion birds could be seen. Getting to his feet he searched for some sign of the chaos force, but apart from the bodies of their fallen there was nothing to indicate they were here anymore.

He stumbled amongst the mounds of the dead, seeing all the familiar faces he had just hours before now vacant and lifeless. But, on making his way back to the camp, hoping to find at least some survivors he noticed the body of Brother Gaspar lying broken in the mud. He limped over and looked down into the priests eyes. His features were contorted in pain and he wondered why the priest had not called on Sigmar to banish the demon. He realised he had work to do even now and looked for the book Gaspar carried. The large prayer book was covered in mud and blood, but mostly intact. He bent down and picked it up, brushing off the dirt and held it close to his breast. Now he thought about it, some divine force must have been at work here. He found the hammer shortly after, the runes still glowing, but ruined by blood and chaos hands. He prised it from the grip of a burnt and charred chaos warrior and with great effort walked back to the camp with both in hand.

The camp was in the same pitiful state. The tents were ablaze and there were bodies everywhere. Some intact, some crushed, others strung up and displayed as grisly trophies. He found the shrine to Sigmar, the stones pushed aside and the hammer broken in two. Setting the hammer and book to one side he went about trying to rebuild the shrine. The stones were put back in place, and with an effort he propped the two pieces of the hammer symbol back together. Placing the book and the hammer on it, he knelt and closed his eyes in prayer.

'_You hath been saved for one reason Faust. Spread my Word, but the true word'_

Faust opened his eyes, the hammer, the book; the shrine all glowed and burned with a heavenly fire. He knew what he must do.


End file.
